"'Dissection' is a quaint term for it," Talia sat down next to G'Kar on her sofa, handing him a cup of paroga tea. "At least when you are dead, you can't feel anything. In a mental dissection – you feel every piece of your mind being ripped apart, piece by piece. It is excruciating. And the worst part is, if the torture is physical, you can hope for death. But when it is mental, there's no way out. You are imprisoned in a mind that won't die." Talia glanced at her tea. "If I believed in the Corps before, I lost my fidelity to them after what they did to me."
"Then how-?" G'Kar asked pensively.
"You're wondering how I got here?" Talia put down her tea, gazing into the distance. "Lyta came back for me. Her Vorlon powers . . . they continued to grow over the years, and once she could control them, she came back for me – for what was left of me, anyway. She pieced my mind and my personality back together. She was able to remove the sleeper personality that took control of me – but I've still got scars from it."
"What kind of scars?" G'Kar asked, narrowing his eyes.
Talia stared at him for a moment. "Just like Humpty Dumpty, Lyta couldn't put me all the way back together again," she said quietly. "These days I can't bear to sleep. My nightmares . . . ." She grimaced before she continued, "Try not sleeping for years on end, G'Kar, and see how it leaves you."
"I am sorry to hear that, Ms. Winters," G'Kar said sympathetically.
Talia shook her head, "I suppose we all have our scars."
G'Kar thought of the scars on his back from Cartagia. "I suppose we do." He cocked his head, "Lyta did mention that your telepathic powers had been enhanced."
Talia looked up at him, "Yes, Jason Ironheart gave me more than I can ever thank him for. Telekinetic powers and . . . more. Lyta helped me tap into that. Maybe she even touched me with her own Vorlon powers. I don't know. But as broken as I am, I'm beyond the reach of Psi Corps now. I moved here to put all of that behind me – to start a new life." She looked intensely at G'Kar, "And I want to leave it that way."
"I understand, Ms. Winters," G'Kar leaned forward. "But I need your services. Only someone with your calibper of powers can help me."
Talia's eyes bore into G'Kar's one good eye. "I understand," she said in a soft voice.
"The mission—" G'Kar began.
"I understand already," Talia cut him off. "There could be another war - as devastating as the last. I can see it already in your mind. I will go with you to Centauri Prime," she looked back at him. "If I was granted these gifts, I should at least use them to help people, rather than waiting for them to tear me into pieces with nothing to show for it."
G'Kar stared hard at Talia Winters before he nodded slowly. "I have—"
"—a flyer waiting," Talia stood, "I know. And I'm ready. Let's go."
"Lord Wesa," Palco announced as the robust former minister approached the throne.
"Your Majesty," he bowed deeply, sweeping a hand to his hearts as he approached the Empress, who was sitting as if an iron rod ran through her back.
It was, Wesa thought, yet another difference between the Emperor and his wife. Mollari, he thought, sprawled effortlessly on the throne. But the Empress sat tensely upon the edge of the throne, ready to spring from it at any moment.
"Lord Wesa," Timov began. "You once offered your services to me, and I require them now."
Taking up a position in front of her, Wesa smiled, resting his clasped hands on his portly belly. Staring quaintly at his hands, he said, "I live to serve, Madam Regent."
"Except that you did not serve, not for long that is, as Prime Minister," Timov motioned for him to follow her, and he strode a step behind her as she descended the throne and led him from the throne room to the palace hallways.
"My health prevented serving as Prime Minister any longer," he offered with a shrug.
"Yes," Timov reached Londo's office and crossed its threshold, waiting until the door had closed and they were alone. "I heard about your health." She gestured him toward a chair. "I need your frank advice, Lord Wesa. I am without a Prime Minister, and it has set the Centaurum atwitter."
"Most unfortunate what happened to the Prime Minister," Wesa rocked back in his chair, staring at the baguan bird behind her.
"Let me get to the point, Lord Wesa. Would you be willing to serve as my interim Prime Minister?" she asked.
"My health is still failing me," Wesa patted his belly with a sorrowful smile.
"I thought it might be affecting you still," Timov said. "At the time you resigned, everyone thought it was Minister Palazzo who had been behind your abrupt departure – or, that is to say, the state of your health."
A sheet fell over Wesa's face, and his posture stiffened.
"But since you will not return to a lucrative position even now when I ask, I ascertain that it must have been Minister Durla all along," Timov said thoughtfully. "Now what," Timov tapped a manicured finger on her chin as she stood up, "could make a man such as you, Lord Wesa, give up such a powerful position? One that you have spent your life vying for?"
Wesa shifted his weight uncomfortably in his chair.
Timov opened a drawer and pulled out a folder. She slid it across the desk to Wesa. When he did nothing, she encouraged him, "You may open it."
Wordlessly, Wesa opened the folder, glancing at its contents, and his face paled before he closed it again, setting it back on the desk.
"This," Timov pointed to the folder, "is what Minister Durla has on you, is it not?"
Wesa cleared his throat nervously. "Whether or not it is true," he began, "if this came to light, it would dishonor my entire House."
"Whether or not it is true," Timov agreed, "the information in this folder would indeed dishonor your House. Perhaps even destroy it." A dark glint appeared in Timov's eye. "You know the old Centauri saying: 'I count among my dearest associates everyone who stands against those who stand against me." She smiled at him, "I think we are of one mind about Minister Durla. Like you, I am not fond of him, and I will not appoint him Prime Minister on my watch. I need someone, however, that may satisfy the Centaurum until Londo returns to his duties. As for this," she waved her hand toward the folder, "I am as keen as you are on keeping it private. And that is why you will serve as my interim Prime Minister."
"—But Durla," Wesa protested.
"Durla," Timov cut him off sharply, "will have nothing to worry about. He disposed of you because of his ambition. I will announce that the position of acting Prime Minister will be a temporary post only until Londo returns, and you will announce that do you will not seek the position of permanent Prime Minister - that you will serve only until Londo returns. You will simply state that in the government's time of need, you have returned to aid me, even though your health is waning. It will all appear very selfless of you. And Durla won't have to worry that his long-term ambition is being stifled."
Wesa tipped his chair backwards. "And to think everyone underestimates you because you are a woman," he snorted.
"There is one other matter standing in my way," Timov said grimly. "President Toscaneli has made some sort of a deal with Durla, but Toscaneli has declared that the Centaurum is willing to accept other candidates for the post of Prime Minister if I allow Senna to be betrothed to his son."
Wesa twiddled his fingers in thought. "President Toscaneli has been playing the grand game of politics longer than all of us," he replied. "You are caught between a rock and a hard place, Madam Regent. On the one hand, the Emperor has stated publicly that his adopted daughter will exercise her own choice in the matter, although this has displeased many of the noble Houses," he looked up thoughtfully. "But your husband is not a man to be crossed, so the noble Houses have said nothing publicly. On the other hand, President Toscaneli does not make idle threats. He knows that Princess Senna has been adopted by the Emperor, and by right of her adoption, she carries royal blood. Her offspring will have stronger claims to the throne than most. In addition, she brings with her the fidelity of House Refa, House Mollari, and . . ." he waggled his fingers at Timov, "probably House Algul as well. Toscaneli will persuade the Centaurum to act against you unless he gets what he wants, and what he wants cannot be filled by anyone or anything else. He is securing the position of his own House for the future. It is," he admitted, "a masterful move."
Timov's face grew tauter as she considered the situation further. "How can I frustrate Durla's rise to Prime Minister, then?" she asked.
"In my humble opinion, Madam Regent," Wesa sighed. "You don't have any choice. Young Senna must be betrothed to Toscaneli, the Younger."
Timov drummed her nails on Londo's desk, clearly irritated with her only option. "I will send for Senna," she said at last, displeasure evident in her tone.
John Sheridan and Delenn were enjoying two weeks away from their duties as President of the Interstellar Alliance and Entil'Zha of the Rangers. They had left their communication devices at home, finally allowing their deputies to step into their shoes for this long-awaited vacation. Their son, David Sheridan, had just turned sixteen years old, and they had taken him for a birthday retreat and the accompanying Minbari ceremony in the remote forest of Azatban on Minbar, two days travel from their residence in Tuzanor.
The trio had been welcomed by members of the religious caste in plain tan robes, a small sect charged with maintaining the sacred Azatban forest, and the Sheridans' retreat had been both peaceful and restful.
On the anniversary of the day of his birth, Sheridan and Delenn handed David the present that Emperor Mollari had entrusted them with on David's behalf nearly 16 years before. David unwrapped it with his customary half smile, shaking his light brown hair as he remarked on the odd shaped vase, "It's . . . enchanting," he drew a finger over its surface.
Sheridan and Delenn glanced at each other with a smile. "I'm sure Londo would be pleased that you like it. Now, as for that internship you've been asking about," John said to his son, "I've finally had a chance to talk to General Duval about it. He's agreed to let you serve as a junior member on staff now that you are eligible for a security clearance, and I've already put the paperwork through."
"Wow," David exclaimed.
"Now remember," Sheridan put up a hand stopping his son, "no special treatment around the office, all right?" He glanced at Delenn, seeing her approving nod before his gaze returned to David. "You'll report to General Duval, not to Delenn or myself. He won't let you skid by on anyone's reputation – only your own hard work."
"That means," Delenn smiled softly at her son, "you will be very busy now with the dual responsibilities of your studies and your duties on General Duvall's staff."
"I've been waiting forever for this chance," David said. "Thank you," he tented his thumbs and bowed in the Minbari fashion.
After his parents retired to bed, David picked up the sculpted vase given to him by the Centauri Emperor. It was unique, although he had seen it a number of times throughout his life. His parents had never hidden it or the story of how they had received it, but David had not been allowed to handle it until now. David smiled at the vase, remembering how he had gazed at it countless times, drawn to it by an unknown tether.
Under normal conditions, the keeper secreted inside the bottom of the base would have died without a host while it waited 16 years for the vase to be opened, but the keeper inside the vessel had been placed in the same life-saving stasis that Shiv'kala had used to keep Mollari alive during his latest heart attack. When David inspected the vessel, pulling the bottom out only to discover the keeper curled up in the bottom of the vase, the stasis was broken, and the keeper's biological rhythms quickly returned to normal.
Over the last 16 years, the keeper had been sending out a low level telepathic link to David, its future host, and the telepathic link had worked: when David discovered the keeper curled up in the bottom of the vessel, he didn't draw away in fear, but he grinned with interest.
"Hi, little guy," David addressed the keeper.
It blinked at him, extending one tentacle out slowly, and he touched it gently with a finger.
"Have you been waiting for me?" he smiled.
The keeper gently coiled its tentacle around his finger, watching him with interest, and he scooped it up in his hands. He felt a shiver of excitement as it shimmied its way toward his shoulder. Although he tried to keep it in his hands, it kept climbing his body until it nested happily in his shoulder.
David's grin grew wider as he noted how the keeper seemed drawn to him, and he petted it with two fingers. "There's something about you," he said to it. "Are you a Centauri pet?" he asked. He grimaced slightly when it inserted its tentacles into his shoulder. "Oh, easy," he said to it as its tentacles probed his spine for a neural connection.
In connecting with an adult, the keeper required surgical alterations, but in a child, a keeper could more easily sense its host's neurological pathways, and because David had a low-level telepathic link to the keeper, when it attempted to physically connect with him, he accepted it without protest, willfully welcoming it like an old friend.
After the keeper had made its connection to his spinal cord, he walked over to the mirror and cocked his head as its camouflage kicked in, making it disappear before his eyes. "Odd little guy," he said, watching it in the mirror.
David Sheridan and his keeper were finally one – an event the Drakh had been planning for close to two decades.
Over the coming weeks, David would find his keeper was not a gentle Centauri pet, but that it could inflict pain and suffering as it had on the Centauri Emperor, and its tethers to his nervous system could prevent him from telling anyone about its existence.
The Drakh had a new toy, and its name was David Sheridan.
"Vir!" The voice was not as loud or as strong as Vir Cotto remembered it, but its inflection was commanding, especially in the quietness of the middle of the night, and Vir awoke with a start, dashing to the Emperor's side as he stood up from his hospital bed. The tubes and wires in place for Londo's operation had already been removed, leaving only external devices to monitor him as he recuperated.
Vir made it just in time to feel Londo's hand close around his shoulder, using him as a support.
"We will go for a stroll, yes?" Londo grunted as he arose.
"Londo, I don't think—"
"—You shouldn't worry about starting now then," Londo responded gruffly. "I will do the thinking for the both of us."
"No," Vir frowned, "it's not that I don't think, it's that you shouldn't be out of bed yet."
"Nonsense," Londo gestured for his clothes.
Vir assisted Londo with a robe before the Emperor turned toward the rear exit of his hospital suite, and Vir glanced worriedly toward the front door.
"Come on, Vir," Londo said emphatically. "The doctors said I should get a breath of fresh air."
Vir blinked helplessly. "I think they meant we could wheel you out on the balcony . . . ."
"An Emperor is not wheeled anywhere, Vir. And I hope you are taking diligent notes in the unlikely event that Lady Morella's prophecy comes true."
But contrary to his cantankerous words, Londo patted Vir's shoulder affectionately, "Now, are you coming, Vir, or do I have to make the rounds by myself?"
"No . . . I mean . . . of course I'll go with you," Vir walked at Londo's elbow, watching Londo's slow progress with concern.
As they exited the suite, two guards on duty at the suite's back door glanced at each other before they snapped to attention, clearly surprised by the appearance of the Emperor and the Royal Adjutant in the wee hours of the morning. The soldiers swiftly fell in behind them, trailing them down the private hallway.
Londo veered into a lift, and just as the soldiers were about to enter, he shook his finger at them. "Take the next one," he told them. "Children's wing," he called out to them as the doors closed.
Londo leaned back on the lift's wall, starting to breathe harder. "Why have I not seen you of late, Vir?" he asked.
"You sent me to look after the Princess and the Empress," Vir replied.
"That I did," Londo closed his eyes from the brief exertion before his eyes opened again, lighter. "You have been busy ensuring Senna's happiness, looking after her, protecting her from the throngs of suitors as I requested, yes?"
Vir looked back at Londo, gulping. He noticed that Londo was waiting expectantly for him to say something, almost too expectantly, and Vir was on the verge of telling Londo about his relationship with Senna when he remembered Londo's condition. It's not a good time to upset him, Vir thought as he saw how pale Londo had become with the short exertion. "Maybe we should go back."
Londo waved a hand in dismissal, "I am not an egg, Vir."
"An egg?" Vir wondered how much sedative Londo was still on as the lift doors opened again.
"Not easily broken," Londo nodded toward the lift's open door. As they exited, his guards swiftly rejoined them. "But the best medicine is always good cheer, yes?"
"Yes, of course," Vir replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Vir saw a nurse peering at them from down the hallway.
At the sight of the Emperor wandering the hospital ward, the nurse punched a comm console, whispering into it, clearly informing the hospital staff of the Emperor's whereabouts.
Londo waved the nurse over with a commanding gesture, and the man hurried to his side, bowing.
Glancing down the darkened and quiet hallway, Londo asked, "Is anyone here yet awake?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the nurse gestured toward a nearby room. "A young girl, Trello Calsaban, has been awake all night. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and tomorrow she will have an operation. She is finding it difficult to sleep, but I must warn you that the tumor inhibits her speech."
Londo acknowledged the nurse with a nod before turning toward the room and made his way toward the young patient's bed.
"Do you know who I am?" he said, his voice gathering strength as he approached the bed, the young girl glancing at him as her eyes widening in surprise. "Would you mind if I rested here next to you for a moment? It is a tiring walk I have taken down to see you."
The girl's mouth dropped open as she realized who was visiting her.
Londo turned to Vir with a grin before he dropped himself into the chair at her bedside. "Do you know that as the Emperor, I have a very important duty? I have to learn every person's name in the Republic."
The girl's eyes grew larger. She pointed at her chest, in awe of the Emperor sitting before her.
"You think I don't know your name?" Londo asked, leaning forward.
She shook her head, her eyes still wide as she mouthed the word, "No."
"Let me see," Londo glanced at the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. "It is Trello, yes?"
The girl's jaw fell further, and Vir smiled at her reaction.
"Trello," Londo said, "that is a beautiful name. It is a Northern name, yes?"
Trello nodded, her eyes sparkling with delight.
"There are many fine Houses in the North," Londo told her solemnly. "Besides Mollari, one of the very finest is House Calsaban. Do you belong to House Calsaban?"
Trello's smile widened, and she nodded emphatically.
"Ah, very good," Londo smiled. "Now, I understand you are going for surgery tomorrow, yes?"
Trello's smile faded, and the girl bit her lip with a small nod.
"Yes, I understand," Londo agreed, "It can be very scary. "I, myself, have just come from surgery." He pulled the nape of his robe down slightly so she could see the fresh incision marks healing on his chest. "Do you want to know what they did to me?"
Trello blinked several times as she saw his incisions but finally she bobbed her head.
"I wore out my hearts," Londo told her, "so they have given me new ones. It is a good sign, yes? That I used them so much that I had to get new ones?"
Trello flashed a smile.
Londo continued, "I will tell you, my dear, that I was afraid before I went in to my surgery. But I did not need to be afraid because," he smiled, opening his arms. "Here I am, and now I am indestructible." He leaned forward and said quietly, "I am better than before – just like you will be after your surgery." He glanced at his incision marks as he gestured toward them, "I have told the doctors not to heal my scars – to leave them just as they are - so that I can remember," he told her. He shook a finger at her, "But you are still saying to yourself that you are afraid of your surgery tomorrow, hmm?"
Trello nodded slowly.
"Do you want to know the secret of brave people?"
Trello waited for his reply.
"The truth is that they are all afraid." Londo leaned toward her, as if divulging a secret, "And yet, still, they do what must be done. That is the true meaning of bravery, Trello. Not the absence of fear but the ability to go forward even when it is very scary. So tomorrow, when you are afraid, you will remember this, yes? That the Emperor himself came to . . ." Londo shook his fist, "cheer you up. And when you have your scars, as I do now, do not hide them, for they are marks of your bravery. Those scars show that you have become someone better and braver than the day before. Yes?"
Trello nodded her understanding, and Londo smiled. "I have time for one short story to put you to sleep," he told her. "Perhaps you know it? It is the story of the last feudal king to fall before Emperor Toscano's coutari." Animatedly, Londo recounted the final battles of the king before the defeated king knelt before Emperor Toscano.
"Do you remember what the last tribal king uttered before his head rolled past Emperor Toscano's feet to create our great Republic?" Londo asked her.
Trello nodded. Although the words were in were unrecognizable in modern Centauri standard, every Centauri school child memorized the words in the original Ancient Centauri. As Londo said the words, she mouthed them with him, "Oureiariouro re eusaulo."
"Yes, never forget them," Londo smiled, pushing himself out of the chair at last as he patted her hand. "They are the foundation of our Republic," he smiled at her. "Good night, Trello," he gazed softly at her before he turned to Vir, his energy spent. "Perhaps we should return now, Vir."
Vir nodded, waggling his fingers at the girl in goodbye before he escorted Londo back to his suite.
On their way back, Londo took longer than before, resting several times on the way back, almost unable to make the short trip back to his suite. The extended walk gave Vir time to think about Londo's words about bravery to young Trello, and Vir wondered if he shouldn't just acknowledge, at long last, his relationship with Senna. But as he saw Londo's pallor and his state of exhaustion, Vir pushed his thoughts away.
"Maybe you've overdone it?" Vir offered gently.
"No, Vir, and I don't need a lecture from you," Londo said with annoyance. "It was good for my soul, if not my body. I have missed being among the people," his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know why I have neglected it." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.
"There's still time," Vir felt himself supporting more of Londo's weight as Londo had tired himself out by the exertion of the short walk.
Londo agreed, "Yes, there is still time. I will start by allowing the Deradi children to visit the palace. Timov was after me some time ago about it. I forbade children in the palace after Traco's death, but," he squinted, trying to remember the details, "Urza would be unhappy if he knew I banished them from the palace due to an accident. It is at least a start."
As Vir and Londo returned to Londo's hospital suite, the door whooshed open, and Senna turned, having been waiting for them. She had been watching the latest news, filled with stories about the Prime Minister's murder and the Emperor's state of health, and as she saw them, she immediately flipped off the communications console in surprise as she abruptly stood up.
Leaning heavily on Vir, Londo narrowed his eyes at the screen before he gestured to it. "Senna," he commanded, "turn that newcast back on."
Senna's eyes darted to Vir and back to Londo, but there was nothing she could do. She reluctantly flipped the channel back on.
The newscaster's intonation droned on, "The Ministry of Defense has opened an inquiry into the Prime Minister's murder, and . . . ."
Londo's face turned dark as he watched the broadcast. "Have my carriage prepared to return to the palace first thing in the morning," he commanded in a low growl.
"But Londo," Vir tried to interrupt him.
"Do it," Londo reiterated, firmly.
